Beast
by Eliza2012
Summary: Back in Mystic Falls after the trip to Denver, Damon fights with his nature. Continuing on from Now I Am Under but in Damon's POV.


Damon takes her hand once more while they're waiting for their bags and examines her palm.

"You know I can heal it for you real quick if you just take a little of my blood."

"I'm fine, Damon." She pulls her palm away as if the very idea sickens her.

_Fuck, Elena. You had me in your mouth just a couple of hours ago…_

"Damon, about what happened…"

Oh, crap. Here it comes. The request to pretend it didn't happen. Well, he's not going to pretend it didn't happen. It happened. She loved it. She just needs to admit it and they can get on with it.

Him and Elena? They're destiny. The whole fucking universe is pushing them together.

"What about what happened, Elena?" He tries to keep his anger in check, but fails.

"You have to give me time. _Stefan_…"

"This isn't about Stefan. It's about you and me."

She sighs in frustration and turns away. Across from them, Jeremy waits for the bags at the carousel.

_Christ_. This is just more of her desperate attempt to control things, have them turn out all bunnies and buttercups so they all can all live together happily ever after.

Well, fuck that bullshit. Life _isn't_ happily ever after. He's living proof that it isn't. Or, should he say, un-dead proof.

Then she looks up at him with those big beautiful liquid brown eyes and something breaks inside of him and the pain is short and sharp.

"_Elena_," he says, softly, for then he remembers who she is. He remembers everything in an instant – the tragedy in her life, her brave attempt to make everything all right with everyone – even _him_ – a beast, the very last person she should even give a shit about.

And he loves her for it and his love swells so much in that moment that he feels like it could overwhelm him. She's so _good_, despite everything. He'll do anything she wants. _Anything_.

"Take whatever time you need," he says finally, touching her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

Then he goes to the carousel where Jeremy stands, hands in pockets, looking like the weight of the world is on his young shoulders.

The kid looks up at him, a frown on his face and Damon is brought back to reality. The kid hates him and rightfully so. They stand there for a moment in an awkward silence. Elena's hiding over by the window, staring out at the sky, probably trying to figure out how to make it all good.

Jeremy turns to him. "Rose wanted me to say she's rooting for you and Elena."

That surprises Damon, and he's silent for a moment, not knowing what to say in response, the usual wisecracks nowhere to be found.

"Tell her thanks. I need the help."

Jeremy shakes his head, his emotions so transparent. The boy is so damn earnest, it pisses Damon off. To be so young and fresh and naïve. Damon was once that young and fresh, believing in the possibility of true love. And then he met Katherine…

"She's too good for you," Jeremy says, his voice low.

Damon looks at Jeremy and his anger is all mixed up with hurt in a really nasty way. The kid's face is hard, protective of his beloved sister. Part of Damon wants to tell him how Elena was sucking his cock last night, loving it when he was eating her, fucking her hard, making her come, _twice_, but of course, only a total monster would say something like that.

_Fuck_.

This is no good. This is not turning out the way he hoped it would way back, oh, a few hours ago when he was still riding a post-coital high mixed with the potent taste of her blood. When he still thought she finally made a choice.

The pain from earlier is now morphing into a deep ache, and part of him wishes Klaus would come and compel _him_ to shut off the humanity switch.

"You don't have to remind me." Damon turns away and watches Elena, who's tapping her fingers against the glass, her cheek resting on the smooth surface.

Jeremy grabs a bag and turns to Damon. "Maybe I do."

Oh, yeah, _right_. Little brother reminding Damon Salvatore that he's a fucking vampire monster and should leave his beautiful soulful sister alone. As if that wasn't a given years ago when he walked into town looking for trouble.

He points at Jeremy, trying to get a grip on his emotions.

"Maybe you do," he says finally, giving in, withdrawing his finger, grabbing the other bag.

"Let's blow this place. I need a drink."

* * *

He drops them off, letting Elena go without a word. Then it's straight to the Grill and his favourite bottle of bourbon. One shot, two shots, fuck it – he takes the bottle and drinks from it.

_Where's Ric when I need him? _

Damon glances around the bar. Just the usual riff raff. Matt's waiting tables.

Matt. Elena's first love, All American, red-blooded football captain earnestness. That's who she _should_ be with. Not the Salvatore brothers, vampires, one a fucking ripper in rehab, the other a wildcard who can't control his emotions like some little boy who's had his toys taken away.

Damon's now in full-on feel-sorry-for-myself mode and he hates it. He hates feeling like a fucking sap.

He senses eyes on him from across the room. He turns, his arms on the bar and stares straight into the pretty blue eyes of someone he hasn't noticed much before. Someone from Elena's high school, a year or two behind. Some quiet blonde, a bit bookish if he remembers her from the Founder's Day dance, but nice tits.

In his slightly inebriated state, she looks pret-ty good. She notices him watching her back and amazingly, rises from the table where she's sitting by herself, books spread out as if she's studying.

"You're Damon Salvatore," she says, her voice a bit breathy.

"And you are delicious looking, if I may say so."

That brings a flush to her cheeks.

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Amanda," she says. "Can I join you?" She points to the empty bar stool.

Damon looks at it and hesitates. The beast part of him wants to encourage the girl. She looks very sweet, tasty. But he has Elena on his mind and some blonde blue-eyed high school co-ed is a pale substitute for the real thing.

"Sorry A-_maaan_-da, maybe another time. I have somewhere to go."

She smiles back at him, a little disappointed, but she's still got a hopeful look on her face because of the nice thing he said. Remember that, Damon. Say sweet nothings and you'll get far with the female crowd.

He laughs at himself. Never worked with Elena. Of course, he's never said many sweet nothings to her. Quite the opposite. He's been honest with her. As if he wanted to test her. Be himself and see if she'd accept him for who and what he is.

She hasn't other than one decidedly sweet – hell – almost too intimate fuck that he knows she's now regretting.

He takes another swig from the bottle and leaves, striking off on foot in the direction of the Gilbert household. He's snooped before on Elena, staring down at her while she sleeps, her face so sweet and peaceful it makes him want to climb in and hold her in his arms forever.

Tonight, he's in the mood for a bit more snooping. Maybe he'll find her asleep and sneak into bed beside her, spoon against her sweet warm body, and she'll finally wake when she feels his arms around her and turn over and her mouth will find his and…

Part of him – the non-beast part – is trying to stop him, shouting for him not to go.

But the other part, the needy impulsive heart-aching part, has fingers in ears and is saying "La la la I can't _hear_ you."

And so he goes.

* * *

Fucking _hell_…

_Big_ fucking mistake.

He stands on the main floor window moulding in the darkness and watches Elena and Stefan through the window. They're sitting on her bed, facing each other, holding _hands _likeRomeo and Julie-_fucking_-et. She's wearing one of her cute little bedtime get-ups, a tiny lacy camisole and short shorts and she looks all sweetly fuckable with her face squeaky clean and free of makeup and her hair long and shiny, falling over her shoulders like silk.

His body aches for her.

"Stefan, I love you," she says, leaning closer to Stefan. "I'll _always_ love you."

Damon doesn't need to watch any more. He knows what happens next. Little brother gets the girl, as usual. History fucking repeats itself.

He turns and jumps down from the window and walks off into the night.

* * *

I thought you'd gone," Amanda says.

"Oh, I'm gone, all right." He grabs the bottle of bourbon from the bartender and takes her arm. "Do you want to join me?"

She smiles hopefully. "I'd love to be gone with you," she says all faux-seductive.

Oh, baby, you don't have a _clue_…

* * *

He takes her home and up to his bedroom and she's suitably impressed by everything, walking around touching everything like he's some kind of prince charming here to make her dreams come true.

He pours them both a glass of bourbon and hands one to her. She smells it and squints.

"What is this?"

He cracks a grin. "It's panty remover."

She smiles back at him and downs the shot. "You don't need to use it with me."

_Oh, it's not for you, sweet thang. It's for me._

He takes the empty glass from her and takes her in his arms, dancing her around the room to satellite radio tuned to New Orleans – something all jazzy and mellow, with a lot of sax.

"So, you're a girl," he says, his mind all obsessed with things he should just leave be.

"I'm glad you noticed."

He smiles and then twirls her around before pulling her close. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing that I can see," she says and looks at him without any guile. "You're pretty much the most beautiful man I've ever seen before. I can't figure out why you were alone."

"I'm not any longer."

"And I'm glad you're not."

They dance around for a few moments and Damon grabs the bottle of bourbon and takes a long swig and then holds it up to her mouth.

"Have some more."

She scrunches up her nose. "Do you have something a little less awful tasting?"

He wags his eyebrows suggestively and she blushes.

"How old are you Amanda? You must be, what – a junior?"

"I'm eighteen."

"No, no, no," he says, chiding her. "I said, how _old_ are you?"

"I'm legal," she says and runs a hand down his chest, smiling up at him. He doesn't know whether to believe her for a moment. What's the age of consent? 18 if he recalls. She's no more than seventeen.

"Oh what the hell," he says. "You only die once."

"What?" A look of fear comes over her face for a moment so he bends her down low and the moment passes. Soon, she's laughing, closing her eyes and leaning her head back, exposing her neck and cleavage, all wanton woman trying to entice him. It really is quite sweet.

He kisses the tops of her breasts, running his tongue down between them, holding her there while he runs his teeth over one nipple through the fabric. She makes an appreciate noise, encouraging him and he pulls her back up and pushes her over to the bed.

He's hard as rock, and he just wants to shove it in her from behind, fuck her quickly, bite her, drink her blood…

He throws her onto the bed and grabs her hips, tugging her mini-skirt up, then rips her panties off, the thin fabric coming apart in his hands like its gossamer.

"Hey," she says, a note of alarm in her voice. "Take it easy."

"No," he says, his anger getting the better of him. "I'm just going to take it and so are you."

He pushes her head down and spreads her legs with his knee, then unbuckles his belt and unzips, taking out his rock-hard dick and shoving it in her and ohh, it feels so sweet, he can't help but remember fucking Elena last night. He thrusts in her a few times, and then bends down over her, pulling her shirt up and over her head to cover her blonde hair, and all he sees in skin, and all he feels is a cunt around him, nice and wet and tight, and he bites down on her shoulder while he fucks her hard and fast, barely noticing the girl's cries of pain…

But she just isn't Elena…

He stops, panting, her blood on his lips.

It's blood. It's not _her_ blood.

It's not her body. It's not her sweet cunt nice and snug around him.

_Goddamn_.

He pulls out of her and zips up, his dick still hard, but he can't do this. He doesn't want this girl. He doesn't want to be his usual knee-jerk self. Isn't this what Elena said? How he always did things to screw it all up?

The girl turns, her face pale, tears in her eyes, in shock.

"You _bit_ me," she says, reaching behind to her wounded shoulder. "What kind of monster are you?"

"I'm a vampire," he says, and he can feel his fangs are still extended and his face is all hot, his vision red, and usually he'd enjoy the look of absolute horror such a confession would elicit but not tonight. "The kind you should avoid, if you know what's good for you."

She stands there, gape-mouthed, her face white with fear.

"Just go," he says, the bloodlust receding, unable to look at her face any longer. She pulls her skirt down and adjusts her top, trying to sidle away from him.

Then he grabs her chin and turns her face to his, staring into her eyes. He has to blink several times for his vision's blurry. "Leave the house and walk home. When you get there, you'll forget this ever happened," he says, his voice breaking. "Forget you even knew my name. When you see me again, you'll be afraid of me, but you won't know why. You'll just turn around and go in the opposite direction. Because, baby, I'm your worst fucking nightmare."

"You're my worst nightmare," she says back to him, her voice flat.

That's him, Damon Salvatore. Corrupter of innocent girls. Rejected by the only two women he's ever loved.

After she leaves, he sits in the darkness, a bottle of bourbon in his hand.

* * *

_If you like my Vampire Diaries stories, you will like my original vampire fiction, coming to in July 2012. For updates, check my profile page or email selund2012 ._


End file.
